


A Magical End

by Kissed_by_Circe



Series: Midnight Diner AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Babies, Beta Wanted, Fluff, Happy Ending, SO MUCH FLUFF, Starklings (ASoIaF), Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-07-17 16:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19958737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissed_by_Circe/pseuds/Kissed_by_Circe
Summary: Sequel to 'Where Moon Vines And Night Shade Blossom' 😊





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa says goodbye to the diner, and hello to a new chapter in her life

⚡

It’s a night just like all the others – moonlight painting patterns on the pavement before the diner and shadows dancing in the darkness under the bushes outside the windows, humans and nightwalkers, either groggy with dark circles under their eyes, asking for coffee to last them through a night full of studying or help them get home after an energy draining transformation, or giddy with bright smiles and an appetite for something sweet or greasy between to clubs and bars – but she notices all the little details, smiles at her regulars with a sadness hidden well enough under false cheeriness, and caresses the shelves and the counter and the tables gently when the end of her shift nears. The sun rises, slowly, barely over the horizon, light the palest shade of gold filling the front room, and she misses the bluish grey tinges of dawn more than she expected. It’s her last night, the last time pouring coffee into Mrs Reed’s mug, the last time teasing Waymar over a plate of pancakes, the last time greeting so many people with a smile and “The usual?”

Goodbyes are never easy, and after working the night shift for more than five years in order to pay her rent and put something to the side for later, she’s grown quite attached to the shop and the patrons and her co-workers. She has written essays on the counter, when it wasn’t occupied by her sister, she’s joked with Eleyna when the nights grew long, she’s carved runes into the window and door frames and sketched hex marks on the undersides of tables with her ever trusting sharpie. This diner ~~was~~ is one of her safe places, she leaving and it won’t ever be the same again. The next time she’ll be here, she’ll be a customer, and maybe the person behind the counter won’t even recognise her. There’s a tightness in her chest that she recognises only after a few moments – it’s the same feeling she had when they left for King’s Landing, all those years ago, but she was barely a teenager then, and the excitement, the high hopes she had for living in the capital, had been more prominent than the slight sadness she felt when she left her childhood home behind. She’d only really felt nostalgia later, much later, when she realises that they were never going back there, when her longing became overwhelming.

She didn’t have time to say goodbye to her rooms in the Red Keep apartment building, when Baelish whisked her away, and when she left her aunt’s house in Gates-Of-The-Moon, she only felt relieved and tired, and only stuffed a few things into her backpack when Yohn told her to get ready for the trip to Riverrun. But this time is different, maybe because she knows that she’ll never work here again, or because she can come here whenever she likes, even if it’s just as a customer. Maybe it’s because this place isn’t tainted by dark memories – the only thing she thinks of when she looks at the booths is her sister, moaning in a pancake induced coma, the pack laughing about something, Jon sitting by the counter and smiling at her. She loves this place, and she’ll say goodbye properly, and hopefully she won’t have to cry when she does.

The lock jams a bit, and she presses her shoulder against the door, until she can turn around the key, one last time. She’ll never lock this door again, and she has to take a deep breath. When she turns around, he’s on the other side of the road, leaning against the storefront of _Sea Song Books_ , and his eyes light up when he sees her. She waits for him to cross the street, her hands deep in her pockets, mimicking him, and presses a quick kiss to his lips before she starts walking. “So, how was your last shift?” His voice is low and soft, and she holds her hand out for him to take. Intertwining their fingers, they fall into pace next to each other, and she takes a deep breath before she tells him how sad she feels, and how she never got to say goodbye to the places she called home, even if they didn’t feel like homes at all. “You’ll probably feel like that again, if we move out of our apartment”, he tells her quietly, “but that’s the thing – we’ll always mourn things, places, people, eras. But every end is a beginning, too.” “That’s a good approach.” “It’s what I told myself whenever my mum would pack our things and move on. We only stayed for a few months, so I didn’t have time to get used to things the way you got to get used to the diner, but still.” He shrugs, and tugs her along with him, more determined now, and she can see where she’s leading her.

The park where she defeated Baelish looks like it was before, the muddy field and trampled grass the crowd left that day are gone, returned to their original, proper, neat looks, she can still she where lightning hit the ground in front of the Weirwood tree – the ground is still darker, and the flowers and the grass haven’t managed to grow over it yet, even after one and a half years, no matter how much bone meal and fertilizer and seeds she uses – and, to be honest, she’s looking forward to seeing the lush greens and blues and reds of blossoms and leaves more often now. The building they stop at used to house a tiny flower shop in its ground floor, right under a doctor’s office and a few flats, before the owners bought a house in another part of town, and the pale blue façade and white, wooden shutters and the flowers growing in the windows made her fall in love the moment she saw it. The ‘For Sale’ sign in the left window is gone now, and one of the newspapers glued to the glass has fallen down, and she peers inside, not seeing anything because it’s still too dark, but knowing what it looks like all the same. Edd has taken measurements already, and they’ve designed the cupboards and the counter together, inspired by the old pharmacies she loves so much. He’s an artist when it comes to wood, and she’s sure that he’ll build her the best furniture ever.

“You know, maybe the door or one of the drawers will jam, too”, Jon says behind her, and she turns around with a broad grin on her face. “I don’t think Edd would make a drawer that could jam. You know how he is.” “One of the floorboards creaks, and the left window’s not really airtight, and the sink in the bathroom–“ She presses her lips to his, because she loves him so much that she cannot really believe it at times, and smiles up at him. “The diner era has ended, but the pharmacy era is upon is, I understand.” And she does. The part of her life were she works at the diner is over, but now comes the part where they renovate the shop – the previous owners left it in good conditions, but she wants new wallpapers and a new sink, and many more things – and turn it into a pharmacy with a private consultation room, a storage where she can dry her herbs, and a sign over the door that reads _Wolves Pharmacy_. This is the future, this shop and the man next to her. Someday they’ll move out of the apartment she shared with Wylla before he moved in. Maybe they’ll buy a house, something bigger for when they have children. She doesn’t know yet. The only thing she knows is that she’s looking forward to it.

⚡


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembering Sweetrobin, visiting Baelish, and some Blackfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The funeral they're attending is Anya Waynwood, she was the High Priestess of the Vale, so as niece of two High Priestesses and granddaughter of a High Priest, Sansa has to attend it. Also I found out that tulips represent a short life, so here's that.  
> […] in the Netherlands [the tulip] represented the briefness of life […] (from [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tulip#Culture))

⚡

He’s never seen her wear black before – his t-shirts don’t really count, he thinks – and he has to admit that, even though the colour looks good with her creamy skin and vibrant hair, it doesn’t really suit her. She’s not made for dark colours, and the soft shades of pink and yellow and orange she loves so much match her personality better, at least according to him. She doesn’t look like she’s comfortable in black taffeta either, not the way he feels in his black suits and dark jeans and t-shirts, and definitely not as confident as she does in her usual wrap dresses of velvet or lace or silk, and he tells her as much when she asks him how she looks. “That’s not the point”, she tells him, softly, while helping him with his tie, and he kisses her forehead. “Okay. You look like a proper witch, mid-century style.” “That’s what she would have wanted.” “I know, you said it often enough. It’ll be over soon enough, and then we’ll get you out of those clothes.” She tries to look at him reprehensively, but fails and grins instead, rather weakly. “You’d like that, don’t you?” “…and into a sweater and some cosy sweatpants, and we’ll watch an old, romantic movie to cheer you up, okay?” “That sounds awesome, but there’ll be so much to do, the funeral feast and meeting all those important people and they’ll talk about the future of the Guild…” “Yes, but I’m here with you.”

She’s not the only one wearing a black cape, a hat, and a veil, he notices once they stop in front of the sept, and he sees insignias like the nursing pin on her chest on many of the other mourners. The High Priestess was quite clear with the instructions for her funeral, and many have chosen to comply to her wishes, it seems, wearing clothes that she would’ve deemed proper, and, in some cases, even the robes of the Guild. The cross of _Lady Alyssa’s Order_ shimmers on Brynden Tully’s chest next to his obsidian pin when he hugs Sansa, and she puts her hand on his elbow, leading the two men away from the crowd gathered at the sept’s entrance. “How are you feeling, my dear?” Her uncle seems worried, just as worried as Jon, and she tries to smile, but it falters when she looks over to the mausoleum at the other end of the cemetery. “I’m… fine. I’ve already cried at home, and I didn’t even really _know_ her, so it’s not as hard for me as it is for the others.” Brynden doesn’t look like he’s entirely convinced of this, but he nods nevertheless, and puts his hand over hers in a reassuring gesture.

“Are the nightmares getting better?” “Yes. Jon’s a big help.” He nods again, a gentle, but sad smile tugging on his lips. “It’s always easier when you have someone who understands, and helps you through the night.” The gaze he shoots Jon shows just how much he knows, but it conveys gratitude as well. “It’s good knowing that you’re sleeping next to her”, he says, and Jon has to keep himself from grimacing at the older man’s words, while Sansa coughs, but then he straightens up. Her uncles are the closest things to father figures she has left, and he may not have experience with father-in-law type people at all, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, they sleep in the same bed, but they are adults, and Brynden knows that they live together, he knows of the engagement ring hidden under Sansa’s gloves, he hasn’t disapproved of their relationship so far, and if he did he would tell them straightaway. “I’d do anything to help and support her, Ser”, he tells him, voice strong and level, and the older man’s mouth twitches. “I know that you’re doing what you can, son”, and he squeezes his shoulder, his grip firm, but gentle enough.

⚡

The mausoleum of the Arryn’s is quite impressive, he has to admit when Sansa stops before the marble pillars and places a small spray of lilies and white tulips on the foot of a statue – Lady Alyssa of the Vale, he thinks, with the tears dripping down her face and gown – and Sansa’s grip on his hand tightens. If he could, he’d turn back time and make it all undone, all the loses and betrayals and abuses she’s suffered, no matter the cost, but all he can do is stand next to her and hold her hand while her eyes become puffy and red under the veil she’s drawn back during their conversation earlier. “If I hadn’t…”, she starts, and sobs dryly, only once, but enough for him to pull her into his arms. “They died because _he_ was a bad man. You did what you thought was right, and none of it is your fault, do you understand me? You were just a pawn, and _he_ is the only one responsible for this.” She looks up at him and nods, and he continues, saying all the things he’s told himself for so many years. “It’s done. There’s no going back. We can’t change what’s happened, we can only try and make the future a better place, and you did _just that_ when you defeated him. He can’t hurt anybody anymore, _thanks to you_.” They keep standing there for another few minutes, hugging each other while he continues whispering into her ear and her hair, his eyes fixed on the silvery letters on the mausoleum’s wall, and the knowledge of where Baelish is now is a calming reassurance for him.

⚡

The nurse at the reception smiles brightly, either too ignorant to notice that they’re still wearing their clothes from Mrs Waynwood’s funeral, or too high on caffeine or something similar to care, but she seems to remember their faces from a previous visit, because she greets them with a cheery “Oh, hello, are you here to see your uncle, Miss Stark?” Sansa doesn’t flinch at the words – she’s stopped after the first few times, getting used to it again – but she allows herself to grimace, no longer caring about what Baelish would think. The nurse leads them down the hallway, chatting about how he’s not improving, she’s really sorry, but Maester Redfort and the interns are giving him special attention, and her visit will surely mean a lot to him, and he doesn’t receive many visitors, it’s so sad… Neither of them really listens, but Jon makes sure to nod and smile at the girl, knowing that Sansa will be too busy mentally preparing herself and checking the runes and talismans that line the corridor, disguised as artworks and superstitious little symbols between abstract paintings and statues of the mother and the father and the crone. The hand he’s holding in his own remains still, her thumb tracing patterns on his palm, so she doesn’t see any signs of danger, but then, Ysilla is known for her experience, her accuracy, and for leading the hospital with a strong hand, and she knows very well who some of the rooms contain, she knows that she cannot ever be sloppy or reckless around them.

The room and the man haven’t changed since their last visit, or the visit before that. In the very beginning, sheets of paper with hexfoils and butterfly crosses and runes drawn on them, sprays of catkin branches, adderstones hanging on threads of silver and copper were spread through the room, children of the night came and went, pushing the furniture around when they wandered around the bed, people rearranged the talismans and tokens, and the nurses tried to move things and complained until Maester Redfort but her foot down. Once the turmoil had died down, Brynden and Bronze Yohn and Maester Redfort had reorganised everything, and now the room looks just like they left it then. Almost exactly five years have passed since his defeat, and Baelish hasn’t changed at all. His hair hasn’t grown back and his skin is marred, looking as if it melted off of him, the pyjamas he’s wearing could be the same as last time – they all look the same, but Jon supposes that the nurses care for him well enough, better than he deserves – and the expression burned onto his face is the same, mouth hanging open and eyes staring at the ceiling, as if he was still screaming.

He can’t move, he can’t talk, he can’t do anything, and Jon is just glad that he can’t hurt them anymore, and that Sansa didn’t have to kill him. She staring at him, her face bare of any emotion, and he’s used to it – she just wants to make sure, see with her own eyes, that Baelish is still there, that he’s no longer a threat. They usually just stand there for a few minutes in complete silence, before they go and have a little chat with Maester Redfort, but this time she places her clutch on the useless armchair next to the hospital bed, put there for visitors that never come, and slowly pulls of her left glove. “It’s been five years, one week and six days since that day in the park.” Her voice is pleasant enough, and if a nurse or a lost visitor would wander in they wouldn’t see anything unusual, but Jon is confused for a moment. “It’s our anniversary, too, and Jon took me to Braavos. You know that I always wanted to go there.” She smiles, and Jon takes her hand, remembering the happiest day of his life so far. “And look what he got me!”, she beams, her voice cheery and her smile too white, her lips curling back to show off her teeth, her hand outstretched to show of the gemstones on her finger, amethysts and opals. “I know you always said I should get a blue diamond, but we’re trying to save money, for the pharmacy, and the house, and the baby… I just wanted to tell you myself, before Maester Redfort lets something slip, and I wanted to say goodbye, for good now. I am – no, _we_ are moving on.”

⚡

Maester Redfort congratulates them, and pulls Sansa aside, a clipboard clutched to her chest. “He doesn’t have long, Alys has sensed it. He won’t see the spring”, she tells them in the voice she uses for delivering bad news to patients and relatives and partners, and then Sansa and her hug.

Jon breathes lighter after that.

⚡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few notes here – I wanted to show what happened to Baelish, and *why* it happened (I didn’t want Sansa to kill him, because she’s not like that, but I also wanted to render him harmless).  
> And no, Sansa is not pregnant (yet), but there will be a baby, and it will be cute, I promise 😊 if there's anything you want to see please write it in the comments, I'm always happy about prompts and ideas 😄


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a baby and a wedding! 👼

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments, they're the reason why I keep posting this 😊 
> 
> I don't know anything about adoptions, but I thought it'd be nice for them to adopt a baby because of Jon's past and everything 😊 Mrs Smallwood works for the Secret Society of Magial Beings✨ and helps with the adoption

⚡

“Are you going over the list again?”, she asks from the bedroom, and he forces himself to stop staring into the open cardboard box propped on the set of drawers in what will hopefully become a nursery, and the clipboard lying next to it. He’s already checked everything thrice – or, if he’s honest with himself, _more than thrice_ – and everything’s ready. The box is filled to the brim with remedies and potions and cremes, they have reservations at a hotel her uncle’s friend swears by, and they have both Mrs Smallwood’s phone number and a description of how to find the house. Everything’s going to be fine, he tells himself time and time again, but he can’t help but think about how surreal this seems. It’s only when Sansa comes out of the bedroom in a flowery dress, his blazer over her arm, that he calms down enough. The drive to Seagard is long, and the drive back will be longer – either because it doesn’t work out, or because they will be giddy with hope – and they go over all the things they want to say. It’s like prepping for a job interview, but this is far more important, and she changes the subject soon enough, but the thoughts keep floating in his head.

“I’m a unicorn”, he interrupts the silence, and her head turns, confusion on her face. “According to Mrs Smallwood. Cases like mine are rare.” She knows what he’s talking about, now, and takes his hand. “And now there’s- there _will be_ another one, and I don’t want them to go through all that, you know? Especially because they’ll be younger than I was. It was horrible enough for me, and I was teenager, and I knew what was happening. I’m just, I’m so, _so_ happy that you’re with me right now.” “I promised you, remember? I want to have _everything_ with you.” She kisses his hand, and he takes a deep breath. The Navi says that there’s still four and a half hours ahead of them, and he’s glad that the border between the North and the Riverlands doesn’t have guards or patrols, that they won’t get stuck in a traffic jam, that there’s nothing between them and Seagard.

“I kind of feel the same”, she whispers a few moments later, and now he’s the one to look confused – and surprised. “Lysa and– and Baelish took me in, and when I got out of there, I was 17, almost 18, Arya was on the run, but the boys… they were so young, and all alone. If Doctor Luwin hadn’t stepped in, and alerted uncle Benjen, then I don’t know what would’ve become of them.” It’s still troubling her, even after all these years, even now, when with Rickon being a typical teenager and Bran away at university, and he understands what she’s trying to say. “Even if Benjen hadn’t been able to take them, and then us, in for some reason, they wouldn’t have ended up in the system. Did you know that the Cerwyns, and Rickard Karstark, and Mrs Flint offered to take the boys? And now I have the opportunity to do the same for a new-born.” He smiles at her, and they drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

Mrs Smallwood opens the door for them, greeting them, and Jon tries to smile, but fails miserably. He’s just too nervous, even with Sansa and her bright smile and calming energy next to him. There are a lot of awkward introductions, during which he tries not to look at the girl, or rather, her baby bump, too much, and in the end, he finds himself in the living room, opposite the girl’s parents, with Mrs Smallwood next to him. Sansa and the girl, the biological mother, have disappeared, and he hopes that he won’t ruin everything. There is an awkward silence with awkward smiles, before Mrs Harroway seems to gather her courage. “Mrs Smallwood told us that you’re from Winterfell. A pretty town, I imagine.” “Yes. Yes, it is. Lots of parks, low crime rate, many of our friends live there, too, with their families.” “And what do you do, for a living?”, Mr Harroway cuts in, and Jon imagines that this is what meeting your girlfriend’s father must be like. “I’m an attorney at a smaller law firm, my fiancé is a pharmacist. She has her own pharmacy, only a few minutes away from our house.” “You have a house?” “Yes, ma’am, we bought and renovated it last year.” “Do you already have a name?” “We’re not sure yet, but we like Jeyne, Alys, Lucas.” They seem pleased with his answers so far, and Mrs Smallwood nods encouragingly.

He has a good feeling about this.

⚡

“This is my room”, Marissa says, and sits down on the bed. It’s covered in a light pink comforter, matching the walls and curtains. The desk in the corner seems to be well organised, the calendar over it is full, the books on the shelves are arranged neatly. The room of a high schooler, not fitting for a teenage mother. “I suppose Mrs Smallwood has already told you about the baby’s condition.” Sansa nods at that, not sure how much the SMB secretary has told the girl. “I still can’t believe that she and the doctor believed me when I told them about the father. That he’s a werewolf, I mean. Gods, it sounds so strange.” “It does.” Sansa allows herself to chuckle a bit, and opens the box she’s brought. “That’s how it happened. Magic is, unfortunately, stronger than the pill. But I have some things that’ll help you during the next four months. Lotion, something against the weird cravings, and, if you have questions or just want to talk, you can always call me. I know enough werewolves to help you out.” Marissa smiles at her, and Sansa is sure that this’ll work out.

⚡

“I never thought it’d be like this”, she tells him when they’re waiting in the surprisingly pretty office, her fingers playing with the ring on her finger abstractedly, gliding over amethyst and opal and silver, and he takes her hand in his. “I’m sorry that it’s like this. I promise you, we’ll have a proper ceremony in a godswood, with our families and friends and a big party next year.” He looks so guilty, and she smoothes out the slight wrinkles on his forehead with her finger. “I want a pretty cake with edible flowers, and a white lace dress, and everything, but I want _this_ more. It’ll be easier when we’re married, with the adoption and the house and insurance…” He nods, and presses his lips together, and kisses her hand. “Next year, I’ll promise you.” “When we have a little flower girl or boy.” They smile at each other, lost in each other’s eyes, and when the officiant enters, he has to clear his throat to get their attention. “Miss Stark and Mr Snow, soon to be Mr and Mrs Stark, I presume?” The man smiles, the smile of someone who likes his job, and ignores the dreamy looks they share when they introduce themselves. “So, do you have the rings ready?”

⚡

Three months and two weeks later, Mrs Harroway calls them, her voice surprisingly strong. “It’s a girl, and they’re both doing well.”

⚡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if there'll be more chapters, but I might write some more in the far future 😊
> 
> There's also a rebloggable pic on [my tumblr](https://kissed-by-circe.tumblr.com/post/187072090558/a-magical-end-chapter-3-they-smile-at-each)


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who've read this, given kudos, left comments - you're wonderful and made this fun writing 😊
> 
> It's finished now, but if anyone wants something special or has a cool idea or if inspiration strikes I might come back to this, but for now I'll say good-bye, and thank you, thank you, _thank you 💜_

⚡

Jenny hops through the meadow, barely taller than the grass and wildflowers around her, humming to herself. The woods surrounding the small clearing are getting darker, shadows creeping through the thicket and crows screaming in the treetops. It’s like one of the horror movies she watches sometimes, the little girl with the white dress and the flowers in her sandy blonde hair, picking white yarrows and meadowsweets, not caring about what might be lurking in the darkness under the trees. Arya knows what might be out there, but then, there aren’t many things more dangerous than them, and so she simply calls out to her niece, telling her to go and help Edd with whatever he’s doing. Willow will follow her like a silent shadow, and they’ll probably get into trouble, like they always do, but she doubts that anyone will get angry. The wedding is a lot more casual than she thought it would be, but then, both her sister and her brother-in-law are laidback people, even more so since becoming parents, so it’s quite fitting, even if it was a bit of a surprise at first, but Jon and Sansa are happy, after everything that’d happened to them, and that’s what’s most important to her. That, and the chocolate fountain, which will hopefully survive the day without getting tipped over. Maybe she _does_ have to look after her nieces after all.

They are, of course, with Edd, Jenny sitting on the knee of her god-father with admiration in her soft brown eyes, while Willow twists his hair into what looks like plaits interwoven with flowers, her small, nimble fingers working fast and smoothly. Arya’s not sure if Willow was born with this, if hair would move like water under her dancing fingers if she didn’t spend that much time with her aunt Dany, if she didn’t have siren’s blood, but it doesn’t matter. She’s always loved playing with people’s hair, and the pack simply ignores the lilac shade of her eyes and the raven feathers in her dark hair and the things Dany teaches her. She’s half a wolf, even if she doesn’t look the part, even if she’s not a werewolf, and they all love her, her soft smiles and her wit and how well she can lie when she covers for Jenny or when they plan a prank or a heist. She’s smooth and cool and quiet and bold where Jenny is loud and wild and soft and shy, and they’re so close to each other that people are confused more often than not. Are they best friends, sisters, twins? _They are more_ , Arya thinks to herself when the girls stick their heads together, tousled pale gold and smooth midnight black blending together in a curtain of hair, giggling loudly and murmuring something that sounds suspiciously like _fountain_ and _bacon_ and _hands_.

There might be an accident in the near future, but she has to admit that’s she intrigued, and so she strolls over to them. Maybe they need help.

⚡

“The girls just wandered off with Arya. Should I be worried?” “No, you should relax. We waited long enough for this day, and we should enjoy every minute.” “Before the twins start walking, you mean”, Sansa says with a grin and a quick glance to where Lucas is sleeping in his grandmother’s arms, a strand of grey hair in his chubby fist and a content look on his face, while Robb bounces Celia on his arm, looking down at his own daughters playing in the grass. “Someone said something about a chocolate fountain, so she’ll be busy the whole day”, a voice rumbles behind them, and they give Gendry a pitiful look. “Gods, I wish it’d been like that for me”, Sansa sighs, “I suffered from the most horrible nausea, both times.” “I found her in the kitchen a few nights ago, gorging on pretzels with Nutella, so I don’t know what’s worse”, he admits, and they all laugh.

There’s a lot of laughter in their lives now, lots of children – they wanted a lot, as did Robb and Jeyne, Edd and Cley, Wylla and Harry, and now Arya and Gendry. They are safe, Baelish has been dead for almost ten years, and Sansa knows that she’ll be able to protect her children after what happened in that park 14 years ago. They are married, they have a house and a family and a pack, steady jobs that they love.

They have everything.

⚡

**Author's Note:**

> There's only one more chapter planned so far, but if anyone has ideas, prompts, things they'd like to see, write them in the comments, I'm open to almost anything 😊


End file.
